


The Ghosts of Westerburg

by wormghoul



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: The Try Guys, Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: (he's being bullied), (mostly probably maybe), Area Man Unsure if He's Male Bonding or Being Bullied, Gen, Ghost Hunting, Heathers AU, abandoned, inaccurate 80s fashion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-12 02:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12949005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormghoul/pseuds/wormghoul
Summary: Dear Diary: Ryan Bergara is sick of being part of the Kingpins, the most powerful clique at Westerberg High; he's sick of being tormented by his so-called best friends as he struggles to stay on top of the social scene at school. Enter mysterious new guy, Shane Madej. He's the kind of guy who's risen above all the bullshit of high school and is ready to grow up, be an adult, and die.When Ryan turns to Shane for help escaping the grasp of the Kingpins, he's offered the perfect way to not only get his own personal freedom, but to end his friends social tyranny once and for all.But what happens when Shane's 'solution' goes way too far?





	1. Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever just /clenches fist/ compromise your morals and write RPF?  
> Well I did! and here it is! A fairly faithful retelling of the 80s cult classic Heathers, starring The Boys. Ryan as Veronica, Shane as JD, and the Try Guys as the Heathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [edit 26 Dec: Chapters 1+2 merged into single chapter as posted below. Enjoy!]

It was lunch time at Westerburg High and half the student population had already made its way into the cafeteria for their daily servings of mystery slop and half curdled milk. He was expected to be there too, and quickly, but he estimated there was least two minutes time before his so-called friends came to drag him into the ThunderDome to do the rounds with their vapid “lunchtime polls”. So, perching precariously on the bottom step of an empty staircase, Ryan Bergara wedged himself tightly against the wall, opened his journal, and began to write. 

september 5 1989:  

 

> Yesterday, Eugene told me that he teaches people real life, and that real life Sucks. Losers. Dry.  And if I want to fuck with the eagles then I better learn how to _fly_ . So I said, you teach people how to fly? He just rolled his eyes. So I laughed and said, “You’re beautiful,” and god,  is he beautiful .

Ryan underlined the last three words with enough force that the ink bled down through the next two pages of his Moleskine. Eugene Lee Yang was the leader of the biggest, baddest clique on campus. People called them the Kings of Westerburg, but, Ryan would be damned if Eugene wasn’t a _god_ , maybe even bigger than that if the powers that be exist so high. He was also a mythic bitch, but that’s probably what happens when you look like a Renaissance sculptor’s wettest dream and were worshipped when you were only a junior. Ryan was about to touch his pen back to paper to write more poetic drivel when someone quite literally kicked him out of his reverie. He looked up to see Eugene’s lieutenants, Keith Habersberger and Ned Fulmer, towering over him. Neither of them looked particularly happy to see him crouched on the dirty linoleum.

“Eugene told us to haul your ass into the Caff, pronto.” Keith ground out, his piss poor attitude apparent in the way his arms folded across his chest and his foot, the culprit of the kick, tapped steadily with the ticking of the ancient clock. When he made no immediate move to stand, Ned reached down and yanked him halfway to standing by the sleeve of his jean jacket, sending Ryan’s pen and journal clattering to the floor. 

“What’s your damage, Fulmer!” Ryan huffed, dropping to pick up his belongings. Ned groaned and grabbed at him again, but Ryan was ready this time, standing up in time to swat the boy’s hand away. 

“My _damage_ , Bergara, is that you’re embarrassing us. You’re gonna send yourself sailing down shit’s creek with no paddle if you keep this up.” Ned’s hands were back on his jacket again, fisted in the rough material with enough fervor to turn his knuckles white. Ryan shoved the shorter boy hard, and walked away, headed towards the cafeteria with a muttered _Jesus Christ_ under his breath. Behind him, he heard the chilling click of hard soled dress shoes stepping in time. Perfect little soldiers perfectly in line, how _beautiful_.

 -

Ryan could just hear dramatic music wafting through the cafeteria as the three of them walked through the doors to the harsh, announcing whine of the over-the-door air conditioner. The place was rank with the smell of disinfectant and unidentifiable “food”, the perfect place to breed the kind of division and animosity his little squad thrived on. The cafeteria was self segregated into nice, compact social circles, each sequestered like little peas and carrots on the plates of picky children. They pushed past the band kids and the stoners, the science kids and the food drive fanatics, the losers and the lost causes before arriving at “their” section, which was mostly kids whose parents net worths were well into the six figures and who would raise useless, pretty kids.

Leaning delicately against the corner wall trying to discreetly smoke out an open window, was Eugene Lee Yang, positively a vision in cuffed slacks and a crisp shirt with the first few buttons open to expose his chest. _That was one of his rules,_ Ryan remembered, staring at the tan skin and whisper of dark hair, _if you’ve got it, flaunt it, and flaunt it hard._ Eugene’s eyes were raking over his territory like a hungry cat, making that faux soundtrack in Ryan’s mind come to a near screeching crescendo as if he was waiting to be spotted like prey. Despite the nausea rolling in his guts, he kept walking in slow motion, barely faltering when a moment later Eugene spotted him, sighed, slipped on a bomber jacket and rolled his big, beautiful eyes before pinching the lit end of his Marlboro to stick it in his pocket for later.

“Color me stoked, Bergara’s showed up,” he said, voice dripping with saccharine enthusiasm as he shoved off the wall. “Not trying to ditch the poll were you? You did remember it’s Friday right?” Eugene’s voice was like liquid amber, warm and inviting, but also waiting to mercilessly trap you. He reached his hand out to gently stroke Ryan’s cheek, letting his long fingers rest on the other boy’s face. “You didn’t have a brain tumor for breakfast, did you?” and with that Eugene reeled back and slapped him, not hard enough to leave a lasting mark, but enough to get his point well across.

Sometimes Ryan wanted to grab that stupid red bandana Eugene Lee fucking Yang kept wrapped around his wrist and choke him with it. He could see it so vividly, he could feel his arms shake with the effort of holding the bigger man down even as he stood stock still in the corner of the cafeteria. As a cold heat colored his cheek, the desire was almost overwhelming. But he didn’t give in to the urge. No, Ryan just accepted the poll clipboard that Eugene offered when he righted his head after shaking off the hit.

He looked down at today’s question and... 

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking, Eugene,” 

Eugene just smiled and handed him a pen.

 

* * *

 

It was humiliating to do this week’s rounds amongst the usual suspects of Ivy bound brats and trust fund tweakers. They all looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head when he read that stupid, stupid, stupid question aloud. One of the country club kids actually told him to go away, just...not in such kind language. It was exhausting, and Ryan didn’t think he could handle even one more interview. But, as if on cue, one of his friends came up to him, practically inviting him to belly up and take another bite of the shit sandwich Eugene was serving for lunch.

“We need one more,” Keith said, after counting the 15 responses Ryan had collected. “You know Kornfeld will flip his lid if we come back with an odd number again,” Sadly, Keith wasn’t just twisting his arm. Zach Kornfeld, the resident journalist weirdo, had a thing for even numbers, with his favorite being 18. He said it was a lucky number, and not just “because that’s when you can legally get it on”. Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Well, I’ll just erase one.” he grumbled after a moment, uncapping the pen with his teeth to scribble out Zack Evans’ response and enact his master escape plan.

“No cheating, Ryan.” Keith chuckled, snatching the pen from Ryan’s mouth and holding it high above his head, far out of the shorter boy’s reach.

“Oh come on! Everyone’s sitting in pairs, I’ll never hit an even! And anyways I learned my lesson, so just let me -”

“What about him, he’s alone.” Keith interrupted, pointing to a lone wolf at the far side of the cafeteria. Wolf was definitely a good word to describe this guy, too. He was in some kind of trench coat with a dark shirt underneath. His hair was wild and his features were sharp which served to compliment the single tiny silver hoop earring that glimmered in the fluorescent lights.

“Who? Morrissey? No way. Fuck you, dude, he’ll eat me alive.” Ryan whined, trying and failing at snatching the pen back from Keith.

“Not if Eugene gets you first,” without warning, Ned appeared at Ryan’s other side and finished his sentence with an exaggerated snap of his teeth and parody gowl, barely an inch away from his ear. Keith hummed in assent and tucked the pen into the breast pocket of Ryan’s jean jacket before sending him on his merry way to death row.

-

Ryan’s nerves didn’t settle as he trekked back across the cafeteria. In fact, they’d gone a little more jittery when he heard the perfect clicking of Keith and Ned following him. He steeled his eyes forward and tried not to look back, lest he turn to salt or stone or something, like in that one Bible story his mom used to tell him to freak him out. All too soon though, he was face to face with destiny.

“Greetings and salutations.” the boy nodded to Ryan before looking past him and at his friends instead. “I take it you’re one of the crown princes, running away from court to slum it up with the proles?” his voice was deep and deadpan, but something glittered in those dark eyes. Ryan swallowed thickly, nervously, before carding a hand through his hair.

“I’m just Ryan, really, and I, uh,” he paused, searching for something to say to keep him afloat in this conversation. What could he say?  _Hi, I want to ask you the stupidest question you’ve heard all week?_  Or _Do you mind helping me get hazed for the umpteenth time?_  Or Do you want to help me murder Eugene Lee Yang before homecoming? He decided on none of those options, swallowing hard yet again as he decided to bite the bullet and lead with the customer service script. “I’m in charge of the lunchtime poll this week, and I - I was wondering if you’d like to help out.” The mystery boy smiled just a fraction and gestured to Ryan’s clipboard.

“Oh boy, I’m sure you’ve got a doozy of a question there, “Just Ryan”. I’m Shane, by the way, I figured you should know my name before we get involved in the deep, dark intrigue that is the Westerburg High lunchtime poll,” The smile bloomed into a full blown grin as Shane leaned down to place his head in his hands. The snark radiating off this guy felt better than a stolen shot of daddy’s Crown Royal making the fear Ryan felt earlier melt into a strange admiration.

“It’s...it’s a stupid question, really.” Ryan mumbled out. Even though they’d only exchanged, like, a sentence and a half, Ryan didn’t want to ask this question and embarrass himself in front of Shane. This kid was cool. Not in the way Eugene, Keith, or Ned were cool, those carbon copy Ken dolls may have had it all according to some, but Shane...holy shit. Everyone in this school suffered in the popularity power struggle, but Shane had already conquered it all. It was evident in the way he rocked on the back two legs of the plastic chair that practically screamed, _Fuck you, Westerburg, you can’t hurt me._

“Oh, but there are no stupid questions, really. Please, do ask.” Shane replied with a plastic smile on his face like he was expecting to be asked his preferred brand of jockstrap. Ryan looked down sheepishly at the clipboard, even though he knew damn well what the question was. He was stalling, desperately wanting to osmose just an ounce of that armor that rolled off Shane in heady waves; but with his friends only maybe 10 feet behind him, there was no time to gawk, so he swallowed and read aloud,

“Say that you can prove that ghosts are real, but the only way you can do that is by having sex with one. Do you do it?”

Shane let out a loud, wheezy laugh, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. Ryan balked so fast that he felt the sting of the slap from earlier come back as blood rushed out of his face, leaving him cold.

“That is the stupidest question I’ve ever heard, kid.” It really was. Who in their right mind would think of these things? “Tell you what, though, I’d make an event out of it, sell tickets and make VHS and Betamax copies of it, too,” Shane chuckled throughout his answer and it was almost endearing. Sure, he wasn’t serious, but he hadn’t told Ryan to check himself into the closest mental hospital, so he was going to count this as a victory.

“Oh definitely,” Ryan began to banter back, really leaning into the absurdity of it all. “We could hand out popcorn and hock it as the event of the century, ‘come see a man fuck a ghost! Is it a hot ghost? Maybe! You’ll just have to come see, tickets are a nickel each!’” Ryan finished out with a terrible carney impression, making Shane redouble in laughter. Behind him, Ryan heard either Keith or Ned groan loudly before walking forward to drag him away Shane so they could turn in the poll responses. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan watched Shane wave as he left.


	2. The Church of 7/11

Somehow, even after the incident at lunch, Ryan was still in Eugene’s good graces. Good enough, too, that he’d been given the chance to go to the Remington Homecoming Bonfire instead of Ned or Keith. It should have felt like an honor, but it just made him feel uneasy, he’d heard stories of these parties before and it always sounded like mind numbing bullshit facilitated by terrible alcohol and shit tier reefer. So now, in Eugene’s car on the way to bum fuck nowhere, Ryan started to feel queasy. The feeling wasn’t helped when the car came to a skull rattling stop in front of the 7/11.

“I said we’d bring mixers, so go in and grab something good,” Eugene said, adjusting the rear view mirror so he could fix his hair.

Ryan wandered into the convenience store completely overwhelmed. What did you mix with shitty trash can moonshine and Coors Light? Not much, he wavered. Standing in front of the drink cooler, may, in that moment, have been equivalent to being marooned on an island somewhere far, far away.  

“Well, look who it is,” a voice from behind seemed to call out to Ryan. He turned around to see Shane Madej leaning on the counter, eating a hot dog covered in spicy mustard. Gross. “You look frazzled, ghost-boy, is the royal court giving you grief again?” Ryan smiled upon hearing the question, touched to an unhealthy amount that someone had cared enough to ask after how he felt.

“It’s that obvious that I don’t really like my friends, huh,” he mused, turning away from the drink cooler to stare at the assorted snacks nearby.

“If it helps, I don’t like your friends either,” Shane bumped him on the shoulder playfully. “But really, you look like a man about to be sent to war armed with nothing but Squirt and a fancy jacket.” Shane joked making Ryan laugh bitterly.

It was true, the allegory to war. Ryan was fighting for something right this second. But what? To stay a member of the Kingpins, to keep his head above water, or to stop himself from giving in to the urge to smash every glass object within fifteen feet and bathe in the shards? Eh, he decided he was in an “all of the above” mood right now, especially as he noticed the long pause in the conversation. The lull no longer felt organic, evidenced by the way Shane finished his hot dog and then fiddled with the wrapper. Ryan cleared his throat before he began to wax poetically about the battlefront waiting for him on Davis Field.

“It, uh, it is definitely close enough to war. Eugene is dragging me to some bonfire party some assholes from Remington U are throwing. They're just going to get drunk and do stupid shit and I’d rather die than go,” he answers, staring into the middle distance between the slushie machines and a trash can. That’s when he gets a great idea. He’s going to be a conscientious objector, he’s going to ditch Eugene for Shane, somehow.

“Can’t quite hold your Everclear, is that what I’m hearing?” Shane smirked, before giving him a once-over. “I must say though, you’d look cute with a little bit of that Asian glow on your face, I’m sure the ladies would just fall over each other for you.”

Ryan looked at him completely unamused as Shane wiggled his fingers in his face before reaching over to toss the hotdog wrapper in the trash. Shane had crumpled the soft foil into a ball, trying to throw it out like a basketball. He missed, by a large, sloppy margin. Terrible sportsmanship and comments aside, Ryan only dug deeper into his escapist goal.

“Come on man, help me get out of this and I’ll buy you a slushie. Coke, cherry, whatever you want, even though Coke is crap.” Ryan borderline begged. Outside, Eugene laid on the horn of his coupe, patience growing thinner by the second. Shane reached over and pulled a long straw out of the holders next to the slushie machines and gave Ryan a look that burned through his sport coat.

“ _Any flavor?”_

Ryan’s eyes darted between the straw dangling from Shane’s fingers and where Eugene was double parked in a handicap spot before he nodded fervently at Shane. Looking back out of the window, he could imagine the other boy’s scowl even if he couldn’t see it, and Ryan reveled in it for a second while Shane made an unholy slush mixture of half cherry and half coke. Ryan was fucking up major this week: first the poll and now absconding with a near stranger while pointedly not buying the snacks Eugene had asked for.  What was the threat Eugene had delivered this time? Keggers with kids next year? Ha! Count him in for the rest of his life.

Outside, Eugene got out of his car and slammed the driver's door so hard that it made Ryan jump. At the jingle of the store door opening, Shane tapped the tip of the straw against Ryan’s nose and jumped the low counter that held the hot dog roller, disappearing somewhere in the back of the store. _Shit. Shit, fuck, and god damn him to hell_. Ryan thought before ducking under a candy display to play busy picking through the bags of jelly snacks on the rack.

Eugene walked in with all the force of a storm, with shoulders squared and jaw clenched. Out of his periphery, Ryan watched as he slunk down the aisle and towards him. His heart beat in time with the clicking of Eugene’s shoes, that predatory _tap-tap-tap_ , of high polished Doc Martens was sure to be his death knell. Stopping halfway to Ryan, Eugene turned on his heels and snatched a bag of Corn Nuts off the shelf, tore the bag open and started snacking before resuming the march towards Ryan.

“Do I look like Mother Theresa?” he asked, frowning, once he was standing over him. He certainly did not look like Mother Theresa, or benevolent in general, it was more like staring at the angel of death, come to reap his soul in this 24 hour convenience store. Those boots for one, were intimidating, but so was being eye level with the fashionably battered knees of his jeans. And looking up from that meant trailing a line up his toned stomach that sat exposed below a hand-cropped Remington sweatshirt before you finally made contact with his dark, kohl rimmed eyes. Ryan rose from the floor, clasping a bag of sour straws to his chest like a shield.

“Do I?” he asked again, popping a few more Corn Nuts in his mouth. “You’re not typically a charity case, Bergara, but you’re really—“ Eugene crushed the snack bag in his fist, “—trying my patience this week.” he snatched the bag of candy from Ryan and tucked it under one of his arms, motioning with the other for Ryan to follow him. As they walked, Ryan threw a glance over his shoulder looking for Shane, still nowhere to be found. Eugene slapped a couple of dollars onto the counter before they left, dragging Ryan back out into the parking lot. 

It was muggy outside, even for late September, and the bugs were swarming around the streetlights. Ryan swore he could hear them buzzing and frying as they flew too close the bulb and died. It was a relatable death. Soon enough the pair was back at the car where Eugene spun around to stare Ryan in the face so he could pass his judgement.

“This is your chance, Ryan, your one shot. You were nothing before you met me. You were a bluebird, you were geek, you were a Girl Scout Cookie. Don’t you dare blow it,” Eugene’s voice wavered on kind, like he cared about Ryan and not just about the fact that Ryan’s absence from this bonfire would jack up _his_ reputation. He didn’t know when Eugene had grabbed his arm to shake him gently. It was like Ryan was in a haze and the only thing keeping him on this earth was the cool press of metal on his back as he leaned against Eugene’s car.

He really didn’t want to do this. The thought was actually starting to make him feel sick, like he was going to throw up.

“Listen, Eugene, I- I don’t feel so good, like I’m really - I think I’m gonna hurl,” Ryan went green in the gills and did exactly that. He threw up all over the parking lot, just barely missing getting it all over himself.

“You stupid fuck!” Eugene yelled, jumping away from Ryan and his mess.

 _You goddamn dick!_ Ryan wanted to shoot back, but the world was still spinning around him while he stood bent over with his head between his knees. There was a moment of tense silence as the two boys stood there, waiting for the other shoe to drop or for Ryan to hurl again. But what came instead was the deep rumble of a motorcycle pulling around the building, and Ryan looked up to see its rider was none other than Shane Madej.

 _Too little, too late and two bucks short,_ Ryan thought, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Shane dismounted his bike and half jogged over to place a hand on Ryan’s upper back, almost protectively. 

“Oh good, the Son of Sam is here to save the day.” Eugene snapped.

“Greetings, my liege,” Shane bowed exaggeratedly, not breaking heated eye contact with Eugene or moving his hand away from Ryan. “Is everything okay, need any help?” he asked with a smile. Eugene rolled his eyes and got in his car, slamming the door shut and rolling his window down.

“I’m leaving,” he announced, “You two lame-asses can do whatever you want, but after that display, I’m gone and you’re done, Ryan,” with that, he threw the car in gear and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving Shane and Ryan behind.

“What a life,” Ryan said weakly as he stood, watching his puke trickle towards a storm drain. Shane’s hand was still on his shoulder, so Ryan could feel the taller boy was laughing too.

“Definitely. Looks like you’re out of fun weekend activities, though.” Shane finally pulled his hand away from Ryan to place it over his heart, miming heartbreak, “My sincere apologies, kid.”

Ryan laughed, wheezing through the unique chest pain that came with recent upchucking. When he’d had the brilliant plan to ditch Eugene, he didn’t imagine it ending with his shoes covered in his mom’s pâté. It would do though, he supposed. After all, he’d gotten his dishonorable discharge.

Soon, the fiery glow of Eugene’s brake lights could no longer be seen in the distance, leaving the scene awash in the bright blues and greens of the flickering store lights. Looking up shakily, Ryan watched as the colors of the dying neon lights danced along Shane’s brow and aquiline nose, playing about like they were reflections from stained glass windows in the Holy Church of 7/11. Ryan could even extend the holy metaphor to his rebirth as a free man, with his puke acting the baptismal oil. It made him wonder if Shane was ever an altar boy, and the image made him smile, it was almost... _beautiful_.

Shane turned away from the lights all too soon though, in favor of returning to his Harley and to grab a spare helmet from the lock box. He offered it to Ryan after tightening the straps.

“Y’know, even though you wanted me to fuck up your night, I doubt getting stranded was in your plan... _if_ you had a plan, that is. Let me at least drive you home,” Shane said, shaking the helmet again at Ryan, who was still busy marvelling at his Friday night freedom that came in the shape of a lanky boy with a far too expensive ride.

Ryan grabbed the helmet and put it on, frowning slightly when he had to adjust the straps further - either Shane had a huge head or his was tiny, and with their odd size difference, there was no telling which was true. But it didn’t matter, because once the helmet was on and fitted properly, all traces of nausea were gone and Ryan felt like he could conquer the world. Feeling brave, he spoke,

“I’m not expected home until, like, two. And I’m sure you can’t chuck twice in a night, so maybe I could hang with you?” There was a strange pause after that, as Shane looked like he was nearly physically chewing on the idea. After a moment, he frowned, plunging Ryan’s nerves into ice water.

“Nah, I’ve got cult stuff to do. Gotta recite some Satanic verses and whatnot, y’know” he donned a shit eating grin before ribbing Ryan and breaking out into another wheezy laugh. Ryan pulled a face and chuckled nervously, not quite buying into the joke . “Oh, come on, man, I know how everyone talks about me, I’m the spookyass kid in the trenchcoat, and you wanna hang out with me? It's some prime joke real estate! So prime in fact, that it has ocean views and a pool!” 

Ryan stuttered out a “yeah”, his confidence faltering. Literally anything would be better than Eugene, and going home at 10pm somehow felt like a loss, too. It was back to the battle analogy from earlier. It was time to stand up and fight and make his own choices rather than go along with the flow. This was going to be his fucking moment. Not at a bonfire, not at a basketball game, not anywhere else except for the parking lot of a 7/11 with the most sore thumb of a guy he could find.  

“Want to go ghost hunting? I know about some pretty creepy cabins in the woods. And, if the lunchtime poll is any indicator, you just might become a movie star tonight, Shane.”

 


	3. Big Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the MCD/Violence tags kick in here. cws for blood as well)

Shane stayed the night at Ryan’s place after a long evening of “ghost hunting”. Really, it was more or less just dicking around in the woods drinking beer they’d stolen from his father. But it had been exhausting and lasted far past Ryan - or Shane’s - curfews, so there was no sense in sending him home to an angry dad at 5 in the morning, still half drunk. Ryan woke up to find the other boy downstairs in the kitchen, smoking.

“Morning sunshine, have you still got a voice or did you scream it all out last night?” he asked, flicking a long build up of ash down the drain.

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan grumbled in response, wandering into the kitchen proper to grab a glass and fill it with tap water. He longed for some aspirin to ease his hangover, but for now the water was enough. It was cold and good against his chapped lips and somewhat sore throat.

Shane hadn’t been wrong, Ryan had screamed like a baby the night before as they wandered through some moldy buildings at a derelict campground. Every few minutes Ryan swore he could hear a third set of footsteps or a disembodied voice and it resulted in him crying out each time. It was a comical sight to behold: two idiot teenagers drunkenly bumbling about some spooky buildings, one laughing and one crying. After one particularly bad spook, Shane had grabbed his arm and pulled him close, close enough that their breaths mingled in the cold air.

“Hey, you alright? You good?” Shane had whispered. Ryan, already ridiculously wide eyed, shook his head vigorously in the negative. He was obviously not okay, he’d fucking felt something grab his coat! It was definitely a vengeful spirit trying to drag him away to hell or the Void or, or, or -

“Dude, seriously?” Shane had laughed, still holding fast to Ryan. His breath smelled like beer and menthol cigarettes; like real, grounded things and Ryan found his soul floating back down into his body.

“Something, something fucking touched me!” Ryan gasped out, once he was firmly resettled in his body.

“You wanna show me on the doll where the bad ghostie touched you?” Shane had mimed holding up a doll, like some half baked school counselor.

“It’s - it’s _not_ ...it didn’t, like, _molest_ me, Shane,” Ryan snickered while Shane mimed putting the doll in a box, putting himself in a box, and then several other stupid tricks. Ryan almost forgot he was still standing on the crumbling remains of a tragedy. Almost. “It like grabbed at me, like it wanted something from me, like it was trying to pull me away,”  He finished in a whisper.

“You know they can’t hurt you right?” Shane’s voice was calm, reassuring. Ryan nodded, even though he didn’t believe him.  Ghosts could very obviously grab at him so what was preventing ghosts from -

“They can’t hurt ya, because ghosts aren’t real, Ryan,” Shane had interrupted his panicked thoughts in the rudest possible way. He went stiff and looked at him as if he had seven heads. Ghosts were way real. They had to be! Ryan rolled his eyes and walked away to the sound of Shane’s laugh mixed with dead leaves crunching under his feet.

“Come on, Ryan, the only dangerous thing here is me, the weird ass stranger you dragged into the woods!” Shane called after him, not even needing to do that awkward little half jog to catch up to him, since Shane’s legs were disturbingly long. Ryan just laughed and continued walking.

Swallowing the memory with another long sip of water, Ryan looked up at Shane and asked,

“So what’s on the menu for breakfast? It’s still early, we could grab some McMuffins,”

“How about revenge for last night?” Shane suggested from his perch on the counter. _Revenge?_ Ryan looked at him a little incredulously. Did Shane want to get revenge of the ghosts for scaring him last night? What the hell would that even entail?

“Oh you know, Eugene just left you stranded in the parking lot of a fucking 7/11 with a stranger while you were half covered in puke. And all  _that_ was after a full day of playing “let’s humiliate Ryan”, don’t you want payback?” Shane sounded jazzed, like he’d been waiting to say this since he’d woken up and had been rehearsing to get his presentation just right. He’d even rubbed out his cigarette so he could fling both hands in exaggerated gestures without fear of getting ash on some stupid expensive thing in the Bergara’s kitchen.

Hearing Shane say it out loud made every little shitty thing Eugene had ever done to him come crashing down in a vile torrent. God, he’d done everything short of actually stabbing Ryan in the stomach. So yes, Ryan wanted revenge, and he wanted it badly. But how? What could they do that would hurt Eugene? He was the Almighty, the mythic, and he ruled Westerburg; there was no way to touch him in public.

But private revenge could be just as good, too.

Ryan decided that he wanted to see perfect Eugene puke his perfect guts out. It wouldn’t save him from the bitter social ostracization Eugene was going to rain down on him next week, but it’d be a sight to behold, a way to even the score between them just a little bit. The thought made Ryan’s mind sing and he swore he could feel his hangover lessen.

“I’d be down for a nice meal of cold revenge this morning, I think it’d be _very_.” he nods, replaying the imagined sound of Eugene retching on loop in his mind, making him smile against the rim of his glass.

“Get your shoes on, then, we’re off to slay the Wicked Witch of the West Coast.” Shane jumped off the counter and did a little spin in glee.  

- 

They slid open the patio door with ease, walking into the empty kitchen like they belonged there. The Yang family went out for brunch every Saturday, save Eugene, who was typically home nursing a hangover. Ryan was counting on this fact now that they were rooting around the kitchen trying to brew a wicked upchuck potion.

“You know, my brother told me the recipe for something gnarly they use for hazing down at UCLA. It’s whole milk, OJ, and vinegar, apparently it works every time.” Ryan offered the recipe to an excited Shane, who was already busy searching the cabinets for a cup. It sounded perfect and before Shane could even offer a rebuttal, Ryan quickly dove into the fridge to put it together, with the sound of revenge ringing in his mind like Christmas bells.

Arms laden with ingredients, Ryan turned to see Shane picking out a beautiful, clear glass. He felt like a mad scientist brewing this “hangover cure”, and the pair watched in mild disgust as the mix came together, quickly frothing into a grotesque orange color, like a rotten creamsicle. As they stared at the putrid looking concoction, their joy practically nosedived, it certainly did not look _edible_ and it probably wouldn’t fool Eugene.

“There’s no way he’s gonna drink that, it looks like a major phlegm globber,” Ryan groaned, then he made the mistake of smelling it, nearly making himself hurl. Oh yeah, there was no way that was going to fly, especially not in that cup. Shane scratched his five o’clock shadow and started to paw through the cabinets again, before pulling down a pair of opaque clay mugs.

“We’ll, uh, just put it in one of these, and then he won’t know what he’s drinking, yeah?” It was a convenient solution and something in Ryan’s gut told him that it would work spectacularly. They could probably just goad Eugene into downing it before he really had time to examine the cup beyond what was immediately perceptible, which, sans color, seemed innocent enough. Oh happy day.   

“That works,” Ryan nodded, “just switch the glasses while I go put the other stuff away.” He turned around and busied himself with the cleanup, vaguely hearing the clatter of the glasses and slamming of cabinets behind him, sounding like Shane was making a bigger mess than just switching cups. But when Ryan tuned back around, Shane was leaning against a clean counter, holding fast to the mug, wearing a shit eating grin. Ryan beamed one back at his partner in crime.

A minute later, they were headed upstairs and into the lion’s den.

- 

When they walked in, Eugene was already awake, sitting at his desk and looking bored. Even hungover, he looked good. He was shirtless and wearing some low slung sweatpants, showing off to no one, but who could expect less than fashionable pajamas to grace his frame? Even his bedhead hair seemed half styled; it was a look that glowed with an aura of superiority. Looking like he’d walked off a movie set made Ryan want to do more than watch him hurl.

“Ryan and Jesse James, _quelle surprise_ , have you come to beg for forgiveness?” Eugene asked, waving a hand at the pair, both of whom were trying not to look too guilty, lest they give away their secret. 

“We, uh, brought you a peace offering, so, yes,” Shane held out the cup to Eugene, who only raised an eyebrow at it. “It’s a hangover cure of sorts, my brother swears by the stuff,” Shane quickly amended, trying to sell it. Eugene still looked vividly unimpressed, knitting his expertly plucked brow and donning a runway ready scowl.

“I’m not drinking that piss, you two deviants probably spit in it or something. How dumb do you think I am?” Eugene tapped his fingers against his desk in aggravation. Ryan and Shane exchanged looks. This had to work. Ryan desperately wanted this to work.  

“I told you, Shane, it’s way too strong for him,” Ryan sighed, trying his best to sound innocent. It was working to a very questionable degree, but it got Eugene’s ears to perk up. “It really is some weird family recipe, I tried it this morning and it really kicked my ass,” Ryan turned to address Eugene directly, who was now puffing up at the idea of a challenge. Eugene stood and got into their faces.

“You two think you’re so slick don’t you? You think you can come in here and call me a pussy for not drinking some stupid made up holistic medicine crap? Absolutely not.”

_That’s absolutely right, shithead, we’re gonna play you like a violin,_ Ryan thought. He knew that Eugene was going to take that cup and down it. He was going to showboat about how easy it was, how great it tasted, how much better he was than Ryan who got his ass kicked by it. And just as quickly as he'd thought it, Eugene had done it. He’d snatched the cup from Shane, taken a deep breath and taken a huge gulp.

Ryan’s hand flew to his mouth to suppress his giggles as Eugene pulled a face and coughed, beating a fist against his chest. The sight was supremely satisfying and only kept getting better as Eugene staggered back toward his desk to put the mug down. He missed, though and dropped it, spilling the remaining mixture on the carpet. To Ryan’s surprise, what spilled out had an oily blue sheen to it. The drink hadn’t been blue when he’d mixed it, not even a little bit. Ryan grew worried as he heard Eugene begin to gag and sputter like he was being choked.

Eugene moved away from the desk and stumbled toward Ryan with a crazed look in his eyes. He reached a hand out towards him before quickly retracting it in favor of clutching his throat, rubbing the flesh roughly. Ryan, too, stumbled back, narrowly avoiding tripping over a low table in the middle of the room. Eugene dry heaved once, making his abdominal muscles twitch. But when the heaving stopped, the twitching didn't.  He looked like a man possessed, especially as foam began to collect on the corners of his mouth. Something was very, very wrong.

“You stupid fucks,” Eugene croaked, nails curling into the skin of his throat, desperately clawing for air. He must have tried to take a deep breath after that, but the sound that came out was hellish and wet. Much to Ryan’s horror, when Eugene failed to inhale, he coughed, and when he coughed, out came blood, painting his lips cherry red. Ryan felt woozy and he turned to run, but Shane grabbed his arm with a white hot grip, holding him in place as Eugene shambled like a -zombie towards them. Unlike Ryan had avoided earlier, Eugene did trip over the table, shattering it as he fell. Ryan gasped and Shane flinched, dropping Ryan’s arm. Eugene didn’t move an inch once he landed, not even to groan or writhe in pain, and it certainly must have hurt to take that kind of fall.

“Oh my god,”

Ryan counted to 10 slowly, waiting, praying for him to get up. But nothing happened. An eerie silence settled over the room as Ryan realized Eugene Lee Yang was dead, and he had killed him.  

“ _Oh my god_ , _Shane,_ ” the words barely floated above Ryan’s breath as he gripped his stomach like he’d been punched.  

“Is now a bad time to tell you that I, uh, may have put some drain cleaner in there as a little insurance policy?” Shane’s voice was barely above a whisper. The revelation chilled Ryan and he began to gasp and pant, panicking. That’s what was blue. That was... _that was the murder weapon_.

“Oh my god, I just killed my best friend,” he announced, mortified, eyes transfixed on Eugene’s dead, blue lips that stood out so sharply against the bloodied beige carpet.

“And your worst enemy,” Shane posited, kneeling over the body with two fingers on Eugene’s neck, calm even though there was no pulse.

“Same difference.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ whoops they have done a murder. thanks a lot shane.


	4. Myriad of Problems

Somehow, Ryan managed to clumsily sit down at the desk instead of falling on his ass when his knees finally gave out. He was on the border of hyperventilation, his eyesight narrowing into tunnel vision that spun and twinkled as he stared at the ceiling, out the window...just anywhere that wasn’t Eugene. 

“What’re we gonna tell the cops?” he moaned, rocking back and forth, trying to breathe steady. Shane blew out a nervous chuckle, mussing up his already wild hair. When he didn’t answer past a cursory shrug, Ryan spared another glance at Eugene’s body as it sat cooling in a halo of blood and glass. _Oh, the cops_ . _The cops!_ He was going to have to send his basketball highlight reel to San Quentin instead of Kentucky. Panic and guilt welled in his lungs like water, sloshing up his throat as it closed up. He’d wanted sick justice, not death! Oh god, what was he going to wear to the funeral? With shaking hands, Shane reached into his coat and pulled out a smoke, striking a match in his palm, muttering a swear under his breath before taking a long draw.

“Okay, we, uh, we did a murder, which is illegal.” he postulated, blowing smoke out his nostrils like a dragon. “But what if it wasn’t a murder, yeah?” Shane looked at Ryan expectantly, as if he was waiting for him to catch up to a long drawn conclusion.

But how could it not be a murder! Shane put fucking liquid drainer in a coffee cup and Ryan taunted Eugene into drinking it, into - into killing himself! _Wait_ . Killing _himself_. As in, not a murder at all. Blinking back tears, Ryan let himself feel a faint glimmer of hope as the realization dawned on him. It would be okay, thank god, he was too young for death row.

“I used to do Eugene’s history papers, I could forge a suicide note or something. It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be _fine_ ,” Ryan leaned over to open a desk drawer, pulling out a very well neglected spiral bound notebook. His hand shook as he picked up the matching pen though. Ryan swallowed hard as he uncapped it with his teeth and briefly he wondered if he’d choke to death if he swallowed the cap. But that wouldn’t be fair to Shane, to leave him with two bodies. Speaking of the devil, Shane was suddenly behind him, a tall wall of something less than comfort, staring down at him, already beginning to dictate.

“You might think what I’ve done is shocking, but to me though, suicide is the natural answer to the myriad of problems life has given me.”

“That’s beautiful Shane, but I don’t think Eugene could spell myriad if he was staring at the dictionary.” Ryan’s pen hesitated over the still blank page. This had to be at least halfway convincing.

“It’s his last confession, Ryan, he’s gonna go all out and make it as spectacular as possible,” Shane huffed. Ryan’s pen still didn’t budge. “How about “ _plethora_ ” instead. I mean, come on, let’s try to give the Scarecrow a brain here!” Ryan wished he had a Lion’s heart, but he didn’t, so he sighed and wrote down “myriad” in Eugene’s perfect angular print.  Satisfied, Shane provided the next line.

“People think that just because you’re beautiful life is easy and fun, but no one understood that I had feelings, too.”

Feelings, ha! The only thing Eugene probably felt was spite.

Once, when Ryan had been broken hearted after being rejected by the girl he’d wanted to ask to homecoming, Eugene had looked him in the eye and said “ _Who needs feelings when you have power.”_ Two weeks later, the girl was gone.

“What did you do?” he’d asked, stalking up to Eugene who looked so fucking pleased with himself.

“Her mother checks her backpack, I paid Ben five bucks to slip in a letter on some fake Planned Parenthood letterhead. Let’s just say, mommy dearest freaked. You’re welcome, kid.”

 

Coming back to the present, Ryan found that he’d already written down Shane’s suggestion as if on autopilot.

“I die knowing that no one knew the real me,” Shane offered as a closing line, _how beautiful_.

“You’re like, way too good at this, have you done this before?” Ryan asked, half jokingly.

Shane just smiled.

“Beginners luck, baby.”

Ignoring the thick, awkward silence that followed, Shane ripped the page out of the notebook and curled the paper into Eugene’s hand. They quickly left, leaving Eugene lying on the floor, eyes still wide. It seemed almost mean, to deprive Eugene that “peaceful death” look, but at the same time, if Ryan spent another second in that room, he’d hurl again, and there was no way to explain that away with a co-opted suicide note. On the way back to the Bergara house, Ryan clung to Shane with a terrified fervor, and not just because he drove like a bat out of hell. He'd wanted Eugene out of his life, not dead.  _God, how was this his life?_

-

There was a merciful god out there somewhere, because their plan went off without a hitch. When the cops showed up to Eugene’s house Saturday afternoon, they took one look at the note and called it quits. Teenage suicide was a trendy new fad, you see, and Eugene was nothing if not trendy.

When the news broke on Monday, school wasn’t even cancelled! They didn’t even get an early release either. No, they had to attend classes and pretend like the King himself hadn’t been beheaded before brunch this weekend. Determined not to bring any undue suspicion upon himself, Ryan blew off Shane and hung around with Keith and Ned, playing the dutiful mourner after gym class.

“It’s so unfair,” Ned moaned, shoving his gym clothes into his locker. “He was more important than any of those son of a bitch administrators at county. Making us stay in class, is like, dumb unfair. They should have cancelled.”

“Write a letter, Ned, I’m sure they’ll care,” Keith retorted with a snort, taking a bite of the fried chicken he’d somehow snuck into the locker room. Ryan laughed, watching Keith eat. It was the one food Eugene hated to watch Keith eat, it was messy and unbecoming, he’d said. And now, here Keith was, chowing down as if he was in open rebellion. Ned rolled his eyes at the display and slammed his locker shut, making Eugene’s pop open with the force of it.

Ned pawed through the contents - mostly old gym clothes and trash - before unearthing something that made him hum. It was one of Eugene’s bandanas, a blue one. Ned draped it across his wrist before frowning and tossing it to Ryan.

“Here, you should take it. Eugene always said you couldn’t dress yourself for shit. Stick it in your closet and when you see it, think of him and make better choices.” Ned said and walked away, presumably to find his girlfriend. Keith said nothing. He just kept eating.

Ryan curled the fabric in his fist, feeling it rub softly against his palm. He blinked away some tears and watched the fabric turn red in his hand. Red was always Eugene’s best color. He’d been wearing a stupid red bandana on Friday when Ryan had thought of choking him to death. Rubbing his eyes, the fabric flickered back to blue. The same shade as his dead lips.

The next thing Ryan knew, he was standing under a gym shower, soaking himself in cold water, clutching the bandana to his chest. No one asked him if he was alright. Keith didn't call him a weirdo freak. Mourning did weird things to people...murder did weird things to people.

-

Later that day, the entire school was called into the gym for a grief counselling assembly. Ryan was still dazed, and the soaked blue bandana hung limply from the back pocket of his jeans, the cold of it ate into his skin as he sat on the bleachers. The announcers spoke about loss, and mourning, and trying to stay happy in this trying time.

From somewhere in the crowd, Ryan heard someone mutter, _“Oh, I won’t have a problem staying happy. Eugene Lee Yang was one bitch that deserved to die.”_

Ryan couldn’t find it in his heart to disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a really short update, but I promise, shit is about to start getting REAL.  
> ALSO: I want to say to expect updates more frequently, since I plan to work on this instead of my actual assignments, but like, whomst the hell knows.  
> bother me on tumblr about it, my url is also diabeticjedi :)


	5. Death’s Centerfold

It had been one week since Eugene died, and it was finally time to bury him. Ryan was still awake from the day before, pacing his bedroom as if he was going to be lowered into the dirt. He supposed it was only fair that sleep dutifully evaded him the night before such a day. Blearily, he dressed himself, picking out a slim cut suit and grey tie. As he pulled the outfit from his closet, his eyes caught sight of the crumpled bandana on the floor.

A small voice into the back of his head urged him to throw it away, to be done with it. But a larger voice compelled him to pick it up and carry it with him. So he did. He sat down on his bed and folded it into a shitty pocket square. Ryan only winced slightly when he shoved it into his breast pocket, feeling the heavy weight just above his heart.

Suddenly, the downstairs phone rang. Ryan flew down into the living room, hoping to catch it before it woke his parents. Out of breath, he picked up the receiver and answered:

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ryan, uh, listen. It’s Shane. Uh, I’m not coming to the funeral this morning,” Shane’s voice filtered through the speaker crackling and popping every few seconds - a bad connection. Ryan deflated knowing that he would have to go it alone. Sure he would have Ned and Keith and half of Westerburg, but he didn’t want to be alone with his sins, especially because it was _technically Shane’s fault._

“Oh,” was all he mustered to respond though, how brave.

“Yeah, it’s my dad, he doesn’t want me there, said I’ve been to enough funerals already. He even took the keys to my bike.” Shane sounded just as defeated as Ryan felt. He had no idea what Shane meant about having been to too many funerals already, but Ryan was tired enough to let sleeping dogs lie. He stuttered out a nonresponse and told Shane it was alright.

“Thanks man, I’m glad you understand,” was the last thing Shane said before the line went dead. Placing the receiver back on the hook, Ryan straightened his tie and marched out to his own car.

-

Pulling into the church parking lot, Ryan was amazed to have made it to the funeral alive. He’d teetered dangerously close to drifting off at several red lights and had the briefest flashes of fantasy about being in a car accident on the way here. It was the nasty kind too, with airbags and shattered glass flying like confetti. But the universe was postponing his absolution until after Eugene’s entombment it seemed and he arrived more or less whole. Ryan got out of his car and leaned against the door, wondering if he could do this, no, telling himself he could do this. He spotted Keith off by the heavy sanctuary doors but made no move to acknowledge him. Ned was standing next to him, and he yelled after Ryan, waving him over.

Ryan still didn’t trust his legs to take him there just yet. He’d heard rumors that this was going to be an open casket affair. _God, no_ , he thought, _what if his lips are still blue?_  A pang of nausea rolled in his gut just thinking about it. He’d shut his eyes tight against the image, so he didn’t see Ned and Keith jog over to him.

“Hey!” Ned called again, close enough to grab Ryan, who looked at the other boy with barely focusing bloodshot eyes, “Jesus, Bergara, you look like hell.”

He just nodded and rubbed at his eyes. He felt like hell for sure.

“Hey, g’morning to you, aren’t you looking like Miss America herself,” Ryan groaned, his mouth so dry, he was surprised he didn’t split skin with his sharp words. As he reached back into his car for his suit coat, he wondered if Ned was rolling his eyes.

“Eugene always did appreciate your biting wit.” Keith, for once, sounded subdued. Ned hummed.

“You know he had a contingency plan, right?” Ned let his hand slide gently from Ryan’s bicep to his wrist as he spoke.

 _A seventeen year old had a fucking will?_ Ryan thought, surprised he didn’t say it out loud. Oh wait, he did say it out loud.

“No, not for like, death. But like if he broke his leg skiing and couldn’t, y’know, fulfill his duties.” Ned somehow managed to sound so casual, even though the talk of a contingency plan felt like they were in sitting in a bunker on the losing end of a war. In reality though, they were standing in a cold parking lot, surrounded by festive autumn trees and hungover teenagers unsure about how to cope with the idea that they were not immortal as evidenced by the death of the most prolific of their lot. And besides, Eugene’s “duties” were only being popular and shit. How the hell do you make plans for others to rule in your stead, it just sounds like usurpation waiting to happen. Ryan quirked an eyebrow up.

“He wanted you to do the poll.”

Oh, oh no. Eugene could not do this! Not from beyond the grave...well almost the grave, they were getting there soon enough. But the point still stood. The poll was humiliating, it was torture, it was the catalyst for this whole shitshow! Ryan rubbed his eyes again and tried to focus on an angel statue in the distance so he wasn’t looking at him when he whispered,

“Ned, I can’t.”

“Oh come on, have some strength damn it!” Ned half yelled, slamming the roof of Ryan’s car before rubbing his jaw in exasperation. He turned to leave, but quickly whipped back around, offering Ryan another chance. “Y’know what? Just meet me and Kornboy at lunch Monday and we can talk. There’s still time to salvage this.”

The church bells rang, cutting off Ryan’s reply and subsequent refusal.

“Come on,” Keith clapped him on the back, squeezing his shoulder gently. It was time.

-

The rumors had been true, it was an open casket funeral. Well, more of a strange, closed plexiglass casket that made it look like Eugene was encased in crystal like a Disney princess. He didn’t look a thing like he did when Ryan and Shane had left him there on the floor of his bedroom. His beauty had been drained and replaced with embalming fluid that pulled his skin taut and made him look waxy instead of rosy. His eyes were gently closed, yet sunken and there was a very obvious coat of lipstick smeared across his mouth.

Eugene Lee Yang was laid to rest as a caricature of himself. He laid there with gaunt cheekbones instead of regal ones and his skin was off by at least two shades. He would have been appalled at the display. The wreathed portrait next to the coffin, however, was nice. It showed him on some recent tropical vacation, warmed under the glow of a sun that he would never feel again.

Ryan didn’t dwell on the the thought. He just let his eyes and mind wander about the room, looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time. There was a fake hearth behind the pulpit and he noticed the holy water basins were dry. He moved on a stuttered autopilot as they were directed to sit and stand and kneel and pray and...then it was over, and Ryan was back in the parking lot again, sitting in the driver's seat of his car, his keys resting in his lap.

As he struggled to start his car, somewhere near the church, the low rumble of a motorbike could be heard. Ryan paid the sound no mind, he was too jubilant at the sound of his engine catching, eager to get home and sleep, now that Eugene had finally taken his secrets to the grave.

-

“It’s Friday,” someone whispered, close enough to Ryan’s ear to let him feel the breath that carried the words. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

Ryan startled awake and looked up, only to be blinded by the lights of the cafeteria, suddenly all too bright and all too cold. As his eyes adjusted, he looked around to find the source of the cloyingly familiar voice, but to his dismay, the cafeteria was more like an empty void. Cautiously, Ryan stood up, wincing as the drag of the chair echoed in the empty room. Something flashed out of the corner of his eyes and he looked to see a weird glowing orb flitting about by the double doors. Unthinkingly, Ryan moved towards it, chasing it, even as it left the cafeteria and lead him into the unknown.

He ended up wandering down a seemingly endless linoleum hall. As he went, Ryan let his hands trail against the wall as if he could remember his path through touch, even though his gut twisted with the feeling that their was no turning back from here, no backtracking allowed. His fingers brushed up against cold lockers, and he tried to remember the names written on the little brass faceplates, determined to remember his way back anyways. When he dragged his fingers over names like _Brent Bennett, Zack Evans,_ and _TJ Marchbank_ he realized he had no idea who any these people were, which was strange. Everyone had grown up together, he knew everyone at Westerburg. Before he could think long about it, the hall took a sharp, disorienting right turn, leading him to the only door he’d seen since leaving the cafeteria. The spectre flew under the door, and Ryan took a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping into a dark room.

A single dingy light flickered on, revealing some contorted version of a classroom. It also revealed the source of the voice.

Eugene Lee Yang stood there, smiling. Ryan didn’t remember ever seeing Eugene smile like that. It was such a bright, broad smile that filled his eyes and rounded his cheeks and seemed to illuminate the half dark horror show. Ryan took another step forward and Eugene nodded, reaching his hand out to beckon him forward.

“I need your help,” Eugene’s voice echoed, or floated on the wind, or some other ethereal dream bullshit quality. It was like Ryan heard it with his mind and not his ears, which sent a shiver down his spine. He kept moving forward, though, even as a hot bloom of anxiety unfurled in his stomach and shot up his spine.

“M-Me? You need my help?” Ryan whispered, his voice in comparison sounded flat and scratchy, like it didn’t belong. Eugene nodded and when he moved there was a slight shimmer in the air, as if Ryan was talking to a ghost. Was this heaven? Well, it was some weird imitation of Westerburg, so it was probably Eugene’s heaven. Now, inches away, Ryan watched as his smile dropped and his eyes grew sad, almost empty.

“It’s Friday, Ry, and no one’s done the poll in weeks. Won’t you be a sport and help me?” he asked, handing Ryan a clipboard that materialized out of nowhere. He took it gingerly, looking Eugene in his cold eyes. The object was heavier than anticipated, feeling like stone in his hands, marveling Ryan at its weight. When the clipboard was firmly in Ryan’s hands, Eugene disintegrated, blowing away like dust on an invisible wind.

Ryan yelped and dropped the clipboard, and the sound echoed off the floor and walls loud enough to wake the dead. Somewhere behind him, Ryan heard Eugene laugh as he bent down to see the question written down in glowing letters,

_**Who killed Eugene Lee Yang?** _

-

“I’m not going to do the poll, Zach.” Ryan said point blank to the gawking journalist-in-training.

“Why not?” Zach frowned, turning around to mess with the layout of this week’s gazette laid out on the drafting table. It was a grotesque display of what couldn’t quite be called mourning. Pictures of Eugene were splashed between quotes and anecdotes of how wonderful a guy he’d been. There were shots of him in black and white bookended by the prayer cards given out at the service. There was even a group shot of the four of them - him, Eugene, Keith, and Ned - dressed in matching tuxes at last year’s homecoming dance. Someone had put a halo sticker above Eugene’s plastic Homecoming King crown.

It was sensationalized yet sanitized, completely impersonal and irrepresentative and it all sat below the loud headline that read in all caps: GONE TOO SOON, FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS.

Ryan didn’t answer Zach’s question, he just gawked at the board. Eugene got a two page, centerfold spread. He’d be content with that, right? What use was it going to be for Ryan to run the poll that would inevitably just get shoved next to the In-N-Out coupon on page seven. Zach prodded again.

“Why not, Ryan? I mean, wasn’t it his last wish or whatever?”

“I don’t think he had a fucking will that outlined everyone’s legally assigned duties in the wake of his self inflicted demise.” Ryan snapped, never breaking eye contact with a picture of Eugene in some stupid overalls, posing like he was on the cover of Vogue and not in his backyard on a rusting swing set.

“Oh!” Zach smiled, “Speaking of that…” he trailed off and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. Ryan watched in abject horror as Zach Kornfeld unfolded and smoothed out a photocopy of the forged suicide note. He laid it down gently, treating it with utmost reverence and handling it gentler than the most precious, fragile crystal - even though it cost five cents to make upstairs in the library and had been ripped out of the local paper.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate, like, at all.” Ryan looked at Zach so pointedly that the shorter boy could have burst into flames.

“You know what I think?” Another boy, Andrew Ilnyckyj, interjected before Zach could respond, sliding up to the drafting table. “I don’t think Eugene killed himself.”

A weird mood settled over the entire journalism classroom. Andrew didn’t seem to notice it though. He just took a critical eye to the layout of a few Dahlia motifs, rearranging the flowers idly as if he hadn’t dropped a nuke on the conversation.

“Excuse me?” Ryan stuttered, watching as Andrew slowly nodded and pointed to the Xeroxed suicide note.

“There’s no way in hell Eugene would have written that. I always had to peer grade his shit in Lit class and it was...not eloquent.”

“So you’re saying, you think someone killed Eugene and forged a note?” Zach asked, kicking into investigative journalist mode, idly reaching for a notepad. Ryan started to sweat just a little.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugged. “Besides, I have more reasons to kill myself than he did. Hell, Steven has waaayy more reasons!”

“Hey, fuck off!” Steven Lim laughed, making Andrew raise an eyebrow and smirk, as if to _say, see? Told ya so._

“Okay,” Zach ventured slowly, still holding a notepad like he was entertaining this nonsense.

But it’s not nonsense. It’s the truth, Ryan reminded himself, swallowing hard.

“Why would someone do that though,” Zach asked, now grabbing a pencil to actually write down what Andrew was saying. It was Steven, though, that answered.

“He was popular, yeah, but people also hated him a lot. Maybe someone just had enough.” He shrugged, sauntering over to join the little gathering around the grief porn mockup.

“Hey, maybe it was baby boy Bergara. I heard you two got in a fight that night.” Steven ruffled Ryan’s hair, making his blood pressure skyrocket. Maybe he’d pop right here. Sure he’d die a less than dignified death, oozing all over the floor, but maybe they’d be forced to put him in the gazette too, cutting into Eugene’s prime real estate. It was almost funny, that even with him dead, Ryan still wanted Eugene to get his comeuppance.

“It wasn’t a fight.” He said defensively.

“Okay then, but didn’t you like, speed off with Billy the Kid, though?” Andrew practically chased after Ryan and he was getting way too close to shit he wasn’t supposed to.

“You mean that Madej guy, right? The creepy one? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got skeletons you know.” A third jackass, Adam Bianchi, called from somewhere in the back. This was getting worse by the second and Ryan wanted desperately to evacuate. A hard, confusing mix of self preservation and anger bubbled in him, making blood rush in his ears making it sound as if they were far away from him when Ryan heard Zach and the trio exchanging jabs and stories about Shane.

“He’s like obsessed with war and shit.”

“I heard he’s got a dead mom, and he can like, hear her ghost.”

“He’s a real Holden Caulfield-esque fucker.”

The boys were laughing and Ryan realized that things were swaying away from Andrew’s batshit idea. Ryan could handle the degradation of his literal partner in crime if it meant he could swallow the rock in his throat that manifested with Andrew wandering so close to the truth. The relief wasn’t to last.

“Come on,” Steven said, sighing away the last of his laughter, “A reject like him? It’s not too bad of a motive for the crime.” He nodded fervently.

“I caught him behind the K-Mart once, shooting at cans.” Adam offered, like it was damnable proof. Really though, it wasn’t compelling, yet, Zach drank it in, scribbling it down on his stupid legal pad. Ryan’s pulse began to pick up again, especially as Andrew centered his unsettling, half blank gaze on him.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Ryan. Maybe it really was you.” He said with a smile and chuckle. The group laughed, too, all in on the sick joke.

“You’re not funny, Ilnyckyj,” Ryan borderline growled and the laughter died in everyone’s throats, well, everyone except Andrew himself.

“I’m not? Guess I’ll have to pick a new superlative for the yearbook then.” He smiled, clapping Steven on the back and reigniting the joke.

Ryan shook his head and stormed out, being sure to grab the photocopy of the suicide note off the table and scattering several pictures in his wake. Zach called after him with something about the lunchtime poll, but Ryan was hyper focused, knowing he had to do something...

He had to tell Shane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Worth It boys are here and I’m so sorry


End file.
